


In The Crossfire

by peigitrahearn



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Assassination, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-07-15 16:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16066772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peigitrahearn/pseuds/peigitrahearn
Summary: After the death of his father, the king, Prince Minseok will be crowned the new king. But the tragedy on the day of the coronation drags the royal family, the palace residents, and the country down a series of events revealing mysteries, wartime secrets, and past loves.





	1. Prologue: All Hail King Minseok

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, first of all, thank you for giving my fic a chance. Also, unfortunately, I have to say that I won't be able to update this fic regularly due to my school, I have most of the plot planned out but I want to give my best to each chapter and writing them as well as I can.  
> I have changed the ages to suit the characters so throughout the story, keep in mind that the ages are as given:  
> Kim Minseok 26 years old  
> Kim Jongdae 21 years old  
> Kim Junmyeon 17 years old  
> Park Chanyeol 22 years old  
> Oh Sehun 18 years old  
> Kim Jongin 23 years old  
> Do Kyungsoo 16 years old  
> Byun Baekhyun 22 years old  
> Zhang Yixing 27 years old

A certain silence conquered the room despite the number of people filling it, the gracefully bright velvet covering their bodies louder than their mouths. The silence was broken for a slight interval as the velvet covered knees hit the floor all at once.

 

_Today will be the coronation,_

 

A figure entered the hall, a cape longer than any other in the room following him behind. An expression plastered on his face, making it obvious that he was royalty. Maybe the most royal of them all. He marched among the bodies, all bent for him. A couple of young and curious eyes, sons of clan leaders or servants, for whom this was the first time to step into the palace, burnt with the desire for the slight raise of the head, for the smallest peak. 

 

_of Prince Minseok,_

 

The excitement was slowly rising to meet its climax in the palace, though on the contrary, whole room was quiet, the clan flags longer than three humans put on top of each other’s heads hung from the ceiling didn't even flinch, nor the red flame of the candles on the candelabras mounted into the stone walls. Not a hint of a wind in the place. Not a hint of movement or sound, except for the one marching on the red carpet and the man announcing his steps from the stage. 

 

_the firstborn son of the king,_

 

Though the room reeked of royalty with velvet and satin clothing specially made for this occasion by the best in his business, jewelry brighter than the summer sun, a mannered posture that signified the respect for the king and the heirs yet not giving up their dignity— he still stood out the most. Straight dark hair followed by a pair of brown eyes fixated on the throne ahead like they saw nothing else. A blood red cape hanging from his shoulders, following him like a trusted companion on the expensive carpet. 

 

_the rightful heir to the throne._

 

He stepped onto the platform covered with the same expensive carpet from before, and a knee followed. He had knelt down as the others stood up to look at their new king, and he still had his undebatable nobility. 

 

A man dressed in a black suit with a scarf of the same color as the carpet hanging from his shoulders got up on the platform next to the prince, looking humiliatingly low next to the piercing look on the prince’s face dripping with grace. 

 

“Please your highness, repeat after me,” started the man with a rusty voice. “I, Prince Minseok, the firstborn son of King Heechul and Queen Taeyeon and the rightful heir of the throne,”

 

“I, Prince Minseok, the firstborn son of King Heechul and Queen Taeyeon and the rightful heir of the throne,” the man repeated, his voice heavy with seriousness yet ever so light with elegance. 

 

“Swear that I will use my powers only for the good of my people and serve no evil cause,” 

 

“Swear that I will use my powers only for the good of my people and serve no evil cause,” 

 

“Will not let myself be taken over by my humanly desires and sins,”

 

“Will not let myself be taken over by my humanly desires and sins,”

 

“And protect my people from any harm, at any cause.”

 

“And protect my people from any harm, at any cause.”

 

The man coughed, ending his sentence. Getting the crown from the box covered with red velvet a young boy presented him carefully, the old man turned to the prince. “Wishing you for a long and healthy life and a good time for this country, I pronounce you king.” As the gold touched the man’s dark hair, the old man’s voice grew louder, “All hail King Minseok!”

 

“All hail King Minseok!” 

 

The room that was gravely quiet minutes ago was not overjoyed with claps, loud voices and slight whispers. _All hail King Minseok._

 

That was until the room was plunged into a moment of silence for a split second before all hell broke loose and everything it took for a room full of people taught to be calm, graceful and elegant all their lives to go berserk was an arrow. Through the new king’s head. 


	2. Chapter 1: Three Brothers

_ \- FIVE HOURS EARLIER - _

 

_The massive doors being swept open caught the attention of the prince, he directed his gaze towards them to spot a silhouette behind. “Looking good, brother.”_

_Minseok smiled at the sight of his little brother coming into the room, the room of the king-to-be with such carelessness. Normally he would give Jongdae hell for it but he could use some of his seemingly never-ending joy and chillness now._

_“Leave us,” said Jongdae to the servants fixing Minseok’s clothes without separating his gaze from him._

_Minseok nodded at the servants curiously looking at him for approval. “Thank you for your hard work.”_

 

_“What was that hesitant look for,” Jongdae giggled, “do they think I won’t be able to dress my brother up properly?”_

 

_“Considering you still can’t manage to tuck your shirt in or making your hair or getting your jacket on properly, I don’t blame them.”_

 

_“I am by far the most good looking of all of you, and I prove it at every ball.”_

 

_“Because the only time you dress properly is the balls.”_

 

_“Can you blame me— gotta look good for the ladies,” Jongdae said, checking himself in the window and winking as he fixed his jacket._

 

_“What a graceful cause, you definitely are a royal family member.” Minseok teased._

 

_“But hey! I dressed properly for your coronation, look at me!” said the younger one, reproachful. He twirled to show his clothes to his brother, the king, to get some approval._

 

_“Yes, definitely, I should right now kneel before you because for the first time in your life you did something that all of royalty does— even the clan leaders. And they don’t even count as royalty.”_

 

_“I can never do something right in this house,” Jongdae said jokingly coming up to Minseok to fix his shirt. “Such an exemplary king you are, so good to his people,” Jongdae teased doing the buckles of Minseok’s jacket and straightening the black velvet with his hands. “Such a shame they will never know the time their graceful king fell into the shallowest lake in the country while fishing and cried because he thought he was drowning.” He suddenly stopped and looked at Minseok, his lips forming an “o”. “Or, will they?”_

 

_“Jongdae, I will get you executed.”_

 

_“You would've done that long before if you wanted to, it’s not like the palace or the people are in love with me anyway.”_

 

_“What are you saying?” Minseok tried to lock eyes with his brother but Jongdae’s eyes didn't leave his fingers as did the buckles of his brother’s jacket. “People love you.”_

 

_“As a palace fool. Not as a king they'd want to control them.” Jongdae breathed out. “Not that I have any problems with it. You guys can take all the responsibility and I can keep running off the palace to the gardens and the lake to sing.”_

 

_“You really should've born as a villager. Then you could sing and dance and chit-chat and flirt with ladies all you want.”_

 

_“Nah. I like this, I get to eat well and dress well and go to fancy balls. And whenever I fuck something up, no one can tell me off or say literally anything to me since they're scared shitless because I'm a prince.”_

 

_“I think most of the palace stopped being scared of you when you screamed like a little girl at the spider in the dining room.”_

 

_“Shut up, will you?”_

 

_“You’re talking to your king like that?”_

 

_“Chill brother, there are still a couple of hours. You’re still only a prince and I still can do or say whatever I want.”_

 

_“I can’t see that changing when I become the king either.” Minseok sighed. “I’m going to miss this,” he said, his eyes directed at the floor as Jongdae was fixing his collar._

 

_“What do you mean?”_

 

_“This. This meaningless chatter.”_

 

_“Meaningless? Wow, thanks.”_

 

_“I’m just… I’m going to miss you Jongdae. The times we used to play in the garden as little kids, the times we stayed up late to talk about stupid stuff. You teasing me, me teasing you back.”_

 

_“I’m sure you won’t miss the times you had to tell me off.”_

 

_“You know what? I will.”_

 

_Jongdae looked up at his brother before saying, “Oh, Minseok,” in a dramatic way and hugging his brother jokingly. He was caught by surprise when Minseok hugged him back._

 

_“There were things I started missing from the moment my training to become the king started. Gossiping with you from the balcony of the dining room looking down at the guests and giggling about their clothes, you telling me all the gossip you heard from the ladies in the kitchen. Before I had to be a part of those feasts. Stealing dad’s or mom’s clothes and playing dress-up, before I was expected to wear those exact clothes. You telling me everything that happened, the clan leader embarrassing himself or one of the cooking ladies spilling the entire soup on her or Junmyeon falling into the lake; because I was never there to see them with you. Out on expeditions or crammed in a room with the generals planning wars or sieges or visiting neighboring countries with dad to ensure we were still in peace.”_

 

_Jongdae realized his brother’s voice was trembling, a sight so unexpected since the years Minseok started seeing their father more than them yet never looked happy about it._

_Minseok’s training had started from the day he was born, their father always pushed him more and concentrated on him more. Jongdae sometimes got jealous of Minseok because he was always the one that got the most attention from their father who they hardly ever saw, but seeing Minseok’s expression, the grave expression on his carefree brother’s face— he thought again. It was only a more special kind of attention for Minseok at first, Minseok had to train with arrows and swords an hour more or he had to stay talk with his father a couple of minutes more or he couldn't leave the royal dinners as early as the others. Minseok didn't mind them, his father still let him be and play with his brothers and spend his time freely. But when their father’s health started getting worse a need for an heir was stronger, and Minseok was snatched into a more intense training. Sometimes days passed without Jongdae seeing his brother even once. Minseok came to his room exhausted, sometimes even hurt and scarred. Jongdae watched his brother turn into a different man, sometimes he felt like he couldn't recognize his brother when he saw him pulling his bow and getting the arrows into the bullseye one after another with the coldest expression on his face, or making conversation with the clan leaders or other princes or kings on things Jongdae didn't understand a word of. But in the end, he knew deep down his brother was still there, still carefree, still the little kid he used to be._

 

_“What do you mean, brother?” Jongdae said, still in Minseok’s embrace. “This won’t go anywhere.”_

 

_“It will, Jongdae. I won't know when I will even see you. I won’t know when I’ll return to the palace and even if I do, I won’t know when I will be able to get out of all the royalty business. I’ll be like father.”_

 

_“Minseok, we may not have seen our father a lot but each time we did, it was full of warmth and love. Chatter and laughter. Father didn't come home a lot but whenever he did, he wasn't the king anymore— he was our father. Even the way he trained us was loving. You knew he loved us and the only reason he was away was that he loved his people too. I know you love me Minseok, you love Junmyeon and mother too. But the country needs you. And we will always be here brother.”_

 

_“Jongdae?” Minseok said, voice shaky._

 

_“Yes, my king?”_

 

_“Sing for me, will you?”_

 

_Jongdae looked pretty astonished at his brother’s request. “Sing for you? But you always tell me to shut up when I sing—“_

 

_“Just shut your mouth and do the things I say for once, dum dum.”_

 

_“Okay okay.” Jongdae smiled._

 

_Minseok broke their embrace and went to his bed as Jongdae followed. He laid in the bed, putting his head on Jongdae’s lap. He listened to Jongdae’s angelic voice filling the room, his hands stroking Minseok's hair. Jongdae’s voice reminded Minseok of all their family times, Jongdae singing to them after their rare family dinners, his mother singing along, his father watching them lovingly and himself and Junmyeon clapping. Jongdae’s held so many warm memories for Minseok._

 

_“Jongdae?”_

 

_“Hmm?”_

 

_“I’m so scared. I was always in the preparation to become the king and it always felt like I was destined, that it would naturally happen. But now that it’s so close, it feels like I have done everything wrong. Like I don’t know the first thing about being a king.”_

 

_“Minseok, I don’t know how your training was, I don’t know how you felt. I don’t know what it feels like to be the king. But growing up with you, being with you for the past 21 years, I know it. I know you will be a great king.” Jongdae realized his brother was crying, he made Minseok get up and hugged him. Feeling his brother’s shoulder tremble in his embrace and his sobbing muffled, Jongdae proceeded to sing a lullaby their mother always sang to them._

_His fingers stroking his brother’s hair, arms around his shaking shoulders, lips murmuring a familiar and warm song._

 

_* * *_

 

“The king!” A single scream broke the veil of silence that had fallen onto the room, all eyes watching the blood drip down the king’s forehead. Screams and shouts and gasps finally gathering their courage to let loose mixed into each other, a whole soup of pure chaos. People were trying to run, people were trying to see, people were trying to talk and make a way and find an explanation. The guards had immediately shot their harpoons and thrown their spears at any spot that the arrow could've come from. Clean, expensive shoots were stepping onto velvet capes and dresses, making people trip over and fall under the steps of hundreds. The doors of the hall crushed open, people flowing outside in screams. _Prince! King! What happened? Oh my god! How horrible!_

 

With everyone conquered by panic around him, Prince Jongdae was frozen in his spot, mouth wide open, eyes staring at the lifeless body of his brother. He had managed to get up from his chair before all of his limbs decided to give up on him, making him standing like a stone statue in the midst of the hubbub. Jongdae felt something crushing his heart and an unbearable pain, but his nerves didn't respond. He stared. 

 

Prince Junmyeon pushed everyone in his way no matter what their relation to the kingdom was, no matter if they were the king of another country or an important clan leader or anyone at all, his eyes were directed right at his brother and he didn't see anything else. His face was occupied with his usual serious expression and something rare of Prince Junmyeon’s facial features: fear.

 

He kneeled next to his brother, taking his lifeless head to his lap, Junmyeon didn't know what to do. He looked at the arrow sticking out of his brother’s still warm flesh that was so alive minutes ago. His brown eyes that always looked at Junmyeon with love were blank now, watching the ceiling. 

 

“MINSEOK!” Junmyeon’s head bolted to the side with the excruciating scream that echoed through the stone walls. He saw his brother, Jongdae, face scrunched up with anguish and eyes wet with tears. He watched as his brother’s voice drifted into hiccups and he fell to the floor as his knees gave up. Junmyeon turned his gaze away from Jongdae on the floor, hands covering his face and whole body trembling. He looked back at his eldest brother. His late eldest brother. 

 

Junmyeon felt the unbearable urge to cry, to scream, to punch the walls and pray to God to wake Minseok up. He pressed his fingertips on his brother’s eyelids and closed them. “Rest well, brother,” he whispered swallowing every bit of agony he had crammed up in his throat. 

 

\- TWO HOURS EARLIER -

_“How are you feeling?” A pair of feet stepped into the marble balcony floor, approaching another pair resting on the white railing._

_“Oh, hi Junmyeon,” said the king with a hint of surprise in his voice. “I… Ah. I guess I should say that I feel honored?” An uncertain smile spread on his lips._

_The youngest of three brothers Junmyeon was standing at the door with his black jacket, buckles done perfectly, not a hint of dirt or feathers or anything other than expensive cloth on his pants. The unchanging self-confident look in those dark eyes._

_Junmyeon got closer to his brother and put his elbows on the railing, next to him. “Why should you?” Eyes directed ahead, rather than his brother._

_“I don’t know?” Minseok laughed. “I’m becoming the king. Shouldn't I be?”_

_“You should feel whatever you want to feel, Minseok,” Junmyeon rarely called Minseok “brother” although he was nine years younger than Minseok. “So,” He turned to him. “How are you feeling?”_

_Minseok sighed. “Not ready.” He felt a bit small in front of Junmyeon’s eyes, he always had that strange feeling with Junmyeon. Though when Junmyeon had joined their family as a one-year-old baby Minseok was already ten, as soon as Junmyeon was able to walk and talk— Minseok felt like an uneducated commoner in front of him. Junmyeon was like a programmed machine to be the perfect heir— he was clever, practical, showed his emotions when necessary and always at the right amounts. Even the crown prince himself felt like he had to bow in front of his youngest brother sometimes. Though he had got used to Junmyeon’s strict aura over time and was comfortable around him, Minseok hadn't been able to get rid of that strange feeling._

_Junmyeon looked at the floor, thinking and analyzing that response, until he nodded and looked out of the balcony, towards the city starting right after the palace gates. “Do you love your people?” His eyes slightly squinting under the sun._

_“Of course,” it was a quick answer, from the heart. “Of course I do.” Minseok’s gaze followed after Junmyeon’s, to the city. Small buildings with wooden or tiles, people walking through the streets. A street artist playing the violin so intensely that even though you couldn't hear a single note from the palace, you could hear the movements. Minseok looked at the people, the people that were once his father’s, and that would be his after a few hours. “That’s what scares me. What if I’m not good enough for them?”_

_“What are you afraid of?”_

_“Failing them.”_

_“On what?”_

_“I don’t know. Losing wars. An economic crisis or hunger or I don’t know, a civil war. Neglecting a part of the community or people dying under my command. These people, all these living, breathing, walking, and talking beings— they will be all my responsibility Junmyeon. It’s not even just them, everything you can see, breathing or not, will be my responsibility. People that live under those fragile roofs and feed on the bakery on the corner, people that are in need of their bicycles to get some money in their pockets. Those will be my responsibility too. Those orange tiles and bakery shops and bicycles.” Minseok paused. “I don’t know how I can handle that.”_

_“You won’t be alone, Minseok. Dad may be dead, but you’ll have tons of people willing to help you. People who used to help dad, who are loyal and wise. You won’t make every single decision on your own, Minseok. You will have help.”_

_“Junmyeon?”_

_“Yes?”_

_Minseok turned to his brother.“I want you to be my assistant.”_

_Junmyeon’s eyes widened with surprise, the self-confident look disappearing for a moment. It was a very rare sight to see on Junmyeon’s face, any kind of feeling that had caught him off guard., for someone who was known for their stoic face.“What?”_

_“My assistant. I want you to help me.”_

_“Why not Jongdae?”_

_“_ Jongdae _? Are you being serious right now? Jongdae might be a wonderful friend, a definite ladies’ man, a singer, an artist, anything; but he is no politician, no soldier, or anything of that matter. The closest he has come to any kind of business relating to these is talking to other princesses or princes or royalty and stuff during formal dinners. His head might combust if he actually has to look into economics.”_

_“But there’s Head Consultant Seulgi.”_

_“Yeah, I know. But I want you to be there with me too.”_

_“But… Why me?”_

_“Because you should've been the king.”_

_Junmyeon stared blankly at his brother. “What are you saying?”_

_“You, out of any of us, you deserved to be the king the most.”_

_“Minseok, I am not even your actual brother. I am adopted. I am an orphan. Also, I am the youngest. I’d probably get publicly stoned.”_

_“We may not be related by blood, you may be younger but Junmyeon— none of us can think like you do. I just know these stuff about ruling a kingdom because I was taught, you could do and understand them since you could read.” Minseok sighed, looking down the balcony, to the garden. “You should’ve been the king. But I can’t make you the king, so you need to be satisfied with just the assistant position.”_

_Junmyeon paused for a moment, eyes looking down at the garden but mind completely off to somewhere else. “Minseok, can I ask you something?” He said, at last, his serious expression making its way to his face again._

_“Sure.”_

_“Do you want to be the king?”_

_Junmyeon realized his brother tensing up at that question, though keeping at staring down the garden. Junmyeon watched his brother stay motionless for what he thought to be a couple of minutes before the crown prince talked._

_“I want to protect my people. I want dad to be proud, I want the country to be proud. But if I didn't have to do it, if I wasn't born as the son of the king or as the firstborn, I wouldn't have wanted it.”_

_“I see,” Junmyeon said. He put his hand on his brother’s back. “I’ll be with you, brother. Don’t worry. We’ll be together.”_

 

* * * 

As the crowd slowly emptied the palace, the actual palace residents were starting to fill the area. Personal assistants trying to reach their attended royalty member, cooks, and servants trying to take a peek. Amidst the curious eyes and stressed feet, there came the general. 

The hall that was ear-piercingly loud a while ago was now silent except for the servants whispering to each other and their masters— but a dreadful silence wrapped anyone who stepped into the room at first, gazes finally landing on the body laying on the stage.

Angry and confident footsteps echoed in the hallways, getting closer and closer to the hall. The general walked into the room with five soldiers following him behind, though the sound of their leather boots was lost and unheard to the loud thump of the general’s footsteps. His eyebrows were crossed and he was furiously towards the stage; a strict look on his face, making it very obvious that he didn't like the situation at hand. As his footsteps powered with fury thumped against the floor, he gave orders with each step he takes without ever directing his gaze away from the body lying on Prince Junmyeon’s lap. 

“Make sure all the guests have left. I don’t want anyone who don't belong in this palace here. You! Tend Prince Jongdae right now. Bring the prince a glass of water and take him to his room, there is no need for him to see this mess. Bring a clean cloth, immediately. I want guards with Prince Jongdae, Prince Junmyeon and Queen Taeyeon at all times. I don’t want anyone in this room except for the ones I allow. You! Get out, right _now!”_

His voice was the only one that could be heard in the hall now, mixed with only the timid footsteps of servants running around to carry out the general’s demands. Some ran out of the hall in order to call more servants for cleaning, some took the unwanted guests by their arms and led them out with nice words, some attended the royal palace residents that still occupied the room. If there was one thing that the palace residents knew by heart, it was that when the general wanted something done, he wanted it right away. 

The general finally reached the stage with the five soldiers following him, looking at the king’s lifeless body and the prince, soaked in red and warm blood. His eyebrows got even more crossed.

“Prince Junmyeon, your highness, please go to your room until this mess is taken care of.” He said in a respectful yet firm voice, knowing that Prince Junmyeon was the one to be the most sensible out of the three and he would do as the general said. 

The prince jolted his head up to stare the general in the eye until he stood up, gently putting his brother’s head to the floor and stepping back, proving the general’s thoughts right. The general had realized the empty look in the prince’s eyes, somewhat scary due to its complete lack of emotion. But he wasn't the mental health assistant of the princes and he had much more important matters at hand.

He turned around and signed the first servant his eyes caught. “Attend Prince Junmyeon and take him to his room. Make sure he is comfortable and away from any kind of trouble. I want guards waiting at his door.” He didn't look back another time to see if his commands were fulfilled since he knew they would be.

The general put his head on the king’s chest, focusing again on the most important topic, hopelessly paying attention for a single string of hope which didn't come. Being sure that the king was beyond saving now as he didn't hear any kind of sound from his chest, he looked at the arrow deep inside the king’s skull and pulled it out with a swift movement. He then signed to his men to tell the white cloth to hurry up. He sighed, the general was a man loyal to his duty but he didn't want to do his job right now, when this was the thing he had to tend to.

Junmyeon could hear Jongdae’s faint sobbing from behind, a servant trying to calm him down and get him to his room and feet thumbing hardly against the floor, carrying a large, snow white cloth. 

His eyes watched the white cloth being brought into the room, through the long corridor between the seats and to the stage. Prince Junmyeon watched his brother’s body being wrapped up in a large cloth, without saying or doing anything, just motionless until someone took him by the arm and murmured “Please come with me, your highness,” but Junmyeon hadn't heard him. His brother’s figure wrapped up in white was too loud for him. 

“Take him to the medics’ room. I will be there in ten, I want a thorough examination by then. Tell the medic what I said. Be fast.” 

The general looked at the arrow in his hand, turning it around to catch any kind of a clue, a clan’s symbol or a material specific to a kingdom, but was left with nothing as it was just a regular arrow with nothing at all special, he could only tell that it was shot by a crossbow, not a bow.

The general had realized that the arrow had entered with a downward angle, which meant it should've been fired from somewhere higher up. He directed his gaze at the ceilings, slowly examining the paint and the chandeliers and the wooden beams, looking for a clue, anything. As he thought he wasn't able to catch anything he got ready to left, but just before that he remembered feeling like he had seen something. Looking back up at the dark mahogany beams, he realized that a spot was slightly cracked. He grinned at himself, making his way out of the room to get to the upper level, to inspect the beam until someone came running into the hall.

“General Chanyeol! General Chanyeol!” Chanyeol turned to the man running towards him, a response enough for the man to start talking. “The medics are calling you. They said they are done with their examination.”

Chanyeol looked back the beam, taking a note to go back to it in his head and he followed after the sweating man to the medics’ room. 

The medics’ room was a cold place due to all the herbs they had to keep fresh, walls, ceiling, floor, everything made out of stone. Light came in through the holes carved into the windows.There were a couple of beds in the back for the patients to rest, a small area that had much more light than the main room, long bookshelves climbing up the walls filled with books and bottles and boxes with herbs of every kind and color sticking out of them. There was also a chest in the room, in which the medics kept their equipment which most people didn't prefer seeing, such as knives and saws and anything brutal. 

The head medic looked at Chanyeol. “It went right into the brain, a right away kill I presume. The king didn't suffer,” the woman looked at the lifeless body of their ruler lying in the white cloth stained with his blood. “But that also means there is nothing we can do, he was dead the moment he was shot.”

“Clean his wound,” Chanyeol said. “Make sure he is in peace.” 

 

As Chanyeol got out of the medics room, he told a few servants to get every servant free in the palace to clean the coronation hall up, he wanted it like it was that morning right away. 

Chanyeol was usually a calm person; he was strict and usually had his eyebrows crossed but he was calm nevertheless. That couldn't be said for now. 

He was trained for these kind of crises along with any kind of war strategies, disciplining his soldiers or anything military since the king wanted him to be his right hand— but since then, nothing of that sort had happened. Chanyeol knew what he had to do, he kept coming up with plans in his head which fell apart the second they were made because of how confused he was— his king had died. His father had pledged an alliance to the king as well, he was loyal to his king before he was loyal to anyone else and Chanyeol was just like that. King Minseok had only been king for a few seconds before he was shot to death but he was still Chanyeol’s king, and he hadn't been able to protect him. 

Chanyeol took a deep breath, stared into the void and punched the wall next to him with all the strength he could gather in his arm. Pulling back his hand, his knuckles dripping with blood, he felt better now. 

 

The general made his way through the palace as he kept thinking of plans and strategies now that his mind was clearer— he had to interrogate every possible suspect, or even anyone who could know anything, could've seen or heard anything. That was the first step. He needed to find everyone that had been in that room and talk to each one of them. Chanyeol turned from a corner to catch a servant running towards the hall. He stopped her and said, “Get me Consultant Seulgi. Tell her I’ll be waiting for her in the balcony on the east side.”

After the servant quickly shook his head and ran towards the end of the corridor, Chanyeol made his way to the east side. It was going o be a long day for him.

 

 


	3. Chapter 2: Behind Closed Curtains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! My school schedule is getting tighter so please bear with me and not give up this fic. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Have a great day.

“General Chanyeol?” 

Chanyeol was watching the palace garden, contemplating about ways to move on with the case when he heard the familiar voice of a woman. He turned his gaze from the scenery of the balcony to the woman standing next to him, dressed in a long robe. “Hello, Head Consultant Seulgi.”

“Did you need me for something?” She asked, her hands joined together in front of her chest.

“Yes.” Chanyeol nodded. “I need the list of the guests from today’s coronation. Do you have it? Or know who has it?”

“I have it, general,” the Head Consultant Seulgi nodded. “Follow me please.” She said as she turned away to leave the balcony, her robe following her from twenty centimeters behind. 

Chanyeol followed her into the palace, making their way to the center building of the palace which the offices of the higher-ups were, and Head Consultant Seulgi was one of the most important people in the palace. 

“What a horrible incident,” Head Consultant Seulgi said, her eyes still directed right ahead and her voice holding no emotion, feet rapidly moving forward. Chanyeol had always thought Head Consultant Seulgi was a cold woman, yet extremely clever. 

“Yes, horrible indeed.” Chanyeol paused a second. “Do you have any idea who might have done it?”

“I don’t think so, general.” An immediate answer it was, and Chanyeol knew it was a lie. But he knew that lying was the best manner of speech inside a palace too.

“Miss Seulgi, you are the head consultant of the palace. You have worked with King Heechul for years. You sure must have an idea.”

“You are a clever one, general,” she said in her usual cold and emotionless voice. She remained silent for a moment, the long passages in the enormous palace gave them enough time for pauses between their words. “I have been hearing whispers lately, some of the clans have been turning against us. Maybe not yet, but they sure are contemplating it. It was a weak point for us when King Heechul died. They couldn't handle King Heechul, but now that he was gone, all they had to do was to eliminate his successor, who would've made a king just as great as him. Then we’d fall into chaos without a king. And it would be the best time to attack.” Head Consultant Seulgi took a deep breath. “So what do _you_ think, general? Who did it?”

Chanyeol nodded even though he knew that the head consultant wasn't looking at him. “I must say I agree, Head Consultant Seulgi. The only point I can’t understand is that when we conquered those clans and they pledged their alliance— we had checked every single person and picked the ones suited enough to work in the palace. How did they hide someone good enough to sneak into the palace, kill the king and disappear without even a soul noticing?” 

“I can’t say I have an explanation for that. But they sure got what they were looking for. All those people running out of the palace, god knows what they're telling to the public. Rumors probably have started already. We will slip into chaos. We won’t even be able to mourn our king.”

In addition to her coldness and intelligence, if there was something else Chanyeol was sure about Head Consultant Seulgi, it was her loyalty to the kingdom. She was from the Kang clan, one of the most trusted allies of the king. Before Seulgi had taken his place, her father was the head consultant. During then, Seulgi was still at the small castle the Kang clan had, staying with her mother. When her mother died due to a fatal disease, her father took her in with him both because they were all they had in the entire world now and he wanted her to learn some business. 

Though people talked behind their back, about that _privileged little bitch of Head Consultant Minhwan,_ since the king had their back they were under protection. Kang Minhwan had become both the trusted consultant of the king over time, and his best friend. 

Before she was even 15, she had started to be allowed in the meeting rooms with the king and the other consultants and soldiers. Thought most of them didn't like the situation, she always had the brightest ideas. 

After her father died when she was 19, Seulgi was made one of the consultants, though not the head consultant. Now that her father was gone, it was easier to bully Seulgi, which the other consultants loved doing. That was of course until she was pronounced the head consultant the year after, at the age of 20, the youngest any of the head consultants had been. King Heechul had seen Seulgi grow to be one of the smartest women in the kingdom and he knew that no other person but her would suit the position.

She then was the closest person to the king, the most trusted advisor and completely untouchable for she had the highest rank there was to have, second to only the members of the royal family.

 

“He would’ve been a good king,” said Chanyeol.

“Yes, he would,” said Head Consultant Seulgi, her voice still cold but painted with an expected hint of sorrow. “Here, general, after you,” She said as they reached a wooden door. 

Chanyeol stepped into the room decorated with bookshelves stuffed with notebooks and books, some on the floor next to the wooden cases. The ceiling was high, making the top shelves looking unreachable. There was a desk on the corner with tons of paper, a fountain pen and three inkwells. Despite the fullness of the room, it wasn't even a bit messy, as expected from Head Consultant Seulgi. 

She slipped past Chanyeol to get to her large desk placed in the middle of the room, pulling a paper out from the drawer. “Here,” she said. “The list of the guests.”

Chanyeol took the list into his hands, busy with hundreds of names. “I’m going to have a very hard time with this.”

Seulgi looked at the list in the general’s hands, and then at the general. “You’re looking for suspects?”

“Yes. Or anyone that could've heard anything, or seen anything at all. I need to talk to each of these people.” Chanyeol looked at the names on the list.Putting it down since there was no use going over the names over and over again he said, “Are you going to make a public announcement, head consultant?”

“As soon as I can get one organized.” She nodded. “We cannot let chaos take over, if the people lose their calm we are done for.”

“Tell me if you need any help.”

“Thank you, general.”

“Good luck with your work head consultant.”

“Good luck to you too.”

Seulgi watched Chanyeol leaving the room, and turned her back the moment the doors closed. 

Seulgi was a clever person, a loyal one, a cold one; yes, Chanyeol was right about all of those. But her coldness was reserved only for her work. Crown Prince Minseok wasn't included in work for Head Consultant Seulgi.

She raised her head to look at the ceiling, even though it was so high up it felt like it was suffocating her. Seulgi closed her eyes to breathe, she couldn't bear looking at the dark stone walls. A single tear fell from her eye, slowly making its way to her cheek. She sometimes wished she could apply her coldness to her personal life too. 

Seulgi couldn't bear the thought that an hour ago was the last time Prince Minseok would be in her room, that that was the last time she would see his smile and hear his voice. She could feel her heart being squeezed, lungs barely holding the air in them. 

She had lost her father, her mother. And now her best friend. 

Seulgi sat on her tall, mahogany chair, reaching for her fountain pen and an empty paper. She could be heartbroken, barely keeping herself from falling to the floor and bursting into tears, hardly keeping her hands from trembling; but the king had died and she was the head consultant. It was always the hardest with him, keeping her personal life and professional life apart when it came to him. 

She kept looking blankly at the yellowish color of the paper, trying to gather up words to write the death announcement of her best friend.

 

-AN HOUR EARLIER-

_“We…would…very…much…like…to…” Seulgi bit his lip as she carefully made long and shapely curves with the pitch black ink, murmuring the things she wrote as always. “see…you…in…the…king’s…reception…next…” She looked at the door as she was interrupted by a knock._

_“Come in.”_

_“Seulgi?”_

_She looked up at the familiar voice to see a face she had known as well as her own over the last twenty years. “Minseok.” She smiled. Anyone would immediately stand up and bow before the crown prince, showing him the most comfortable seat in the room,_ your highness _es,_ Prince Minseok _s,_ your majesty _s falling from their mouth. But Seulgi understood when Minseok meant business and when he came for a friendly chit-chat._

_“What’re you up to?” said the king as he walked up to her desk._

_“Taking care of your future business.” She laughed. “An invitation for the Choi clan leader to the king’s reception next week. Your reception, to be exact.”_

_“Ah, yeah. I’ll be the king in those invitations and announcements and all that formal stuff.” Minseok sighed. He let his body fall on the seat in front of Seulgi’s desk._

_“How’re you feeling, my king?” Seulgi teasingly asked, noticing the distressed look on her friend’s face._

_“You’ll have plenty of opportunities to call me that. For now, I’m just Minseok. For now, I just wanna be Minseok.”_

_“Okay, okay.” Seulgi stood up and walked towards him, stopping behind his back to put her hands on his shoulders and giving him a nice massage, like the old days. “How about being Minmin for now?”_

_Minseok giggled. “I’d love to be Minmin again,” he said throwing his head back to lock his gaze with Seulgi’s; both of their faces decorated with a huge grin. Seulgi stepped back, stopping in the middle of the massage which left Minseok frowning with disappointment. She enthusiastically looked for something in the room already messy with tons of books and records and paper scattered around, finally raising her head from a pile of notebooks with two tubes in her hand and a childish smile on her lips. She took a paper from the pile and crumpled it up in her head._

_“You ready for a nice challenge, Minmin?”_

_“Count me in, Lulu.” He grabbed a tube from her hand and continued, “You’re gonna lose so hard.”_

_“We will see.” Seulgi opened the window, looking straight at the most crowded place in the palace garden. There were guards wandering, a couple of royalty chatting, guests coming in for the ceremony, palace workers running around._

_Minseok and Seulgi, one the crown prince and other the head consultant of the palace, fought over a piece of paper until Minseok let it be shredded in Seulgi’s claws as he threw himself to the floor to reach for another piece. Making small paper balls out of the papers with doodles or scribbles on it, put into the tubes at once and being shot into the garden._

_Minseok and Seulgi kept giggling at themselves until they found themselves on the floor, laughing their asses off at some royalty shouting about how they planned on getting her killed with the tiny paper ball hitting her head._

_Seulgi took a peek at the crown prince next to her, her best friend, and seeing the childish form his face took whenever he laughed, she couldn't believe this man was going to rule an entire country in a matter of hours. He was laughing and checking out his targets and blowing them paper from a tube like a toddler, this was the Minseok Seulgi knew. But he couldn't be that Minseok if he wanted to be the king._

_But despite that joyful curve of his lips, Seulgi knew Minseok’s face was different now— he had lost that immature expression of his, he was now a man with more sharp features and defined lines. When Seulgi looked at him, she knew that he was royalty. She could tell by the rich dark color of his hair, and the look in his eyes, and the way he moved, talked, anything._

_Seulgi and Minseok had always kept their friendship a bit hidden since it could've been misunderstood, not that any of them had any feelings for the other. Minseok was like a brother to Seulgi, and she knew his heart belonged to someone else anyway._

 

_“Hey Lulu,” Minseok said while tucking paper inside his tube. “Remember the day we met?”_

_“You looking completely hopeless at the feast and me helping you behave like a prince?”_

_“Yeah,” he laughed. “That.”_

_“How could I forget? I taught the king his table manners.”_

_Though they stopped talking to keep up their performance of shooting paper balls, they both had the same memory with every detail in their heads._

_Twenty years ago, at a feast the king had to celebrate his second son’s, Prince Jongdae's birth, Minseok was the only at the table who was under the age of ten and still hadn't gotten used to being royalty. Looking around with his huge and hopeless eyes to understand how to eat, how to drink, how to hold the glass from where and which fork to use; his small brain was going to combust. He was only 5 then, and his parents were off talking to other kings or queens or clan leaders so he was sitting at the table on his own, looking blankly at his plate._

_While the prince was having an existential crisis, an older girl at the age of 8 sat at another table, watching as the young prince tried to learn how to act like a prince. After watching the young kid struggling for some more time, the girl from the Kang Clan decided to straight up stare at the prince until he noticed him. Which he did, in his seventh attempt at looking for a source of help in the crowd of the dining hall._

_She pointed at the right fork to use, showed the way to hold them and took the glass in her hand the way it was supposed to be held; all while staring into the prince’s eyes as he repeated the actions in complete obedience and gratefulness._

_As Seulgi finished her table manner class for the prince, she smiled at him, which the young prince responded with even a bigger one. And with that, a friendship of twenty years was started which lead to the head consultant and the crown prince throwing paper balls at the palace garden._

 

_Tons of papers to be signed awaited, invitations to be written awaited, meetings to be arranged awaited, a coronation awaited; but those were the concerns of Crown Prince Minseok and Head Consultant Seulgi. But at that moment, only Minmin and Lulu were in the room._

 

Upon leaving the head consultant’s room, Chanyeol had decided to go to the hall and check the cracked beam without starting to interrogate hundreds of panicked royalty. The hall was completely empty except for the servants cleaning the place up, dead silent if it wasn't for their faint whispers. Chanyeol inspected the beam one more time to make sure that it was cracked before getting out of the whole and going upstairs, to the upper area of the ten meters high ceiling. Now thinking about it, the craftsman who was responsible for the inspecting of those beams and the relief sculptures usually was at the area next to the beams, wouldn't he have seen it if there was a crack on the beam? If there was someone to create that crack on the beam? 

Chanyeol smiled faintly at the thought of finding a witness that he was sure could give him something, that joy speeding up his pace. Chanyeol had to lower his head in order to get to the platform before the beams started, it was a very small area that even a tiny man like the craftsman had a hard time keeping his balance on. Apparently, his dead body did a better job of staying on the platform than him.

Chanyeol looked at the lifeless corpse of the craftsman, an arrow right through his head, just like the king. But Chanyeol’s eyes could tell that this wasn't as neat as the king’s, not as painless and elegant. It was a much more brutal death, probably done in a moment of panic and rush, the assassin stabbing the arrow with his bare hands rather than the crossbow due to the tiny area. Just as Chanyeol was about to move onto the beam after closing the craftsman’s eyes and making a mental note to tell the servants to take the body when he went downstairs, something about the arrow made him turn his head back.

There was something wrong with the wound— it may have been a close-range shot, done with bare hands but still, if it was the same kind of exquisitely designed arrow that had killed the king, it wouldn't have made an ugly wound like that. Chanyeol pulled the arrow out, still dripping with the craftsman’s blood, giving himself the credit for realizing that the wound wasn't usual. The flesh was more messed up like someone had chopped the sides of the wound, it was more bloody than it was supposed to be. He looked at the arrow, checking the body to see any kind of a sign or writing until his eyes got stuck on the head of it. One would think it was ordinary stone but not Chanyeol, Chanyeol knew what that was. And he knew how impossible the thing he was holding in his hands was. 

It was glandium, a kind of metal that had been gone for years since all the mines had been emptied. There weren't any glandium mines left in the world, the last time Chanyeol had seen this shiny metal was three years ago. It was a very valuable metal due to its durability and sharpness which was always an instant kill in the hands of the skilled, but there wasn't _left any._

The arrow that had killed the king wasn't gladium, so the assassin must have head two sets of arrows with him. Why had he used such a valuable material to kill a commoner? Had he panicked? Was this a mistake or a message? What was he trying to say?

Chanyeol had finally gotten his hands on a clue, but he didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do with it. 

Putting the arrow next to do the body to inspect it later, Chanyeol decided to check out the beam, hoping it would give him another clue, or an idea on why the hell there was a glandium arrow. 

Taking his steps carefully to not break the already cracked beam and fall down seven meters, Chanyeol opened his arms to the sides to keep his balance. He could see the crack more clearly now, it was right in the middle of the beam. Chanyeol proceeded with caution, his eyes locked on the crack. 

When he reached the point of the crack, he realized that the king’s head was a clear shot from there. Though still, you needed to be a very well trained and skilled assassin to get into the palace a quietly, kill a man without anyone knowing, walk in the beams in the ceiling without breaking them completely or falling down, and shooting an arrow right through a man’s head ten meters down. 

Chanyeol frowned, angry at himself for not preventing this, not training his men good enough to prevent a stranger from entering the palace grounds, not being able to protect his king. As these infuriating thoughts filling his mind, Chanyeol tried to ignore them, bending over to take a closer look at the crack. It must have been the spot assassin stood on, probably cracking under the long-term pressure since the rest of the beam was good as new, _he must’ve been very light on his feet,_ Chanyeol thought. That’s when Chanyeol realized a stain on the crack, hard to notice due to the dark wood. Trying to see anything that might help him with the case, Chanyeol tried to take a closer look. He realized it was blood, _he is hurt,_ he thought, and that’s when the beam broke into half. 

Chanyeol heard as the cracked deepened with an awful sound and the enormous beam broke from the middle, the separated half beams swinging to each side of the hall, crashing into the relief sculptures and the colored walls and the clan flags. But Chanyeol couldn't care about the damage the engravings on the columns since his entire attention was focused on not dying. 

Swinging from the end of the beam with both arms wrapped around it, Chanyeol looked at the ten meters he had to his death or to a severe injury with one single wrong move. He heard one of the servants screaming, probably seeing a figure hanging from ten meters up. Trying to move his arms up to get his body on the beam rather than swinging at the end of it, he struggled but he kept slipping back. Chanyeol wasn't scared but only angrier, both at himself for making the crack worse and not being careful enough and at the killer for making that crack for Chanyeol to deepen. 

He grunted in anger, still attempting at getting his body higher up and still failing at it. Chanyeol couldn't die here, not that he was scared or had anything he wanted to live for or that people would be sad if he were to die but because he had a duty, and he needed to accomplish that before anything happened to him. His hands were sweaty and scratchy from the material of the beams and constant friction, trying to keep his body steady with his legs hanging in the air and arms carrying his entire body, trying to hold onto a completely flat surface. 

Beads of sweat were forming on the general’s face, nails digging into the wood, grunts escaping from between his teeth. He wished that screaming servant or anyone that had heard her would call for some help because Chanyeol was about to fall. 

Thinking of plans as he kept climbing and slipping, angry and sweat and uncomfortable, he heard a sound from the platform up above. “General? General Chanyeol!”

He looked up to see a boy with a pretty face light brown hair darkened with the shadows, his eyes looking right at him. Chanyeol knew he looked familiar but he didn’t care who it was at that moment, it seemed the boy didn't care either since he started moving before Chanyeol even opened his mouth. The boy’s brown eyes examined his surroundings, any kind of material to help the general until his eyes landed on the rope attached to the tool belt on the craftsman’s waist. He grabbed it rapidly, throwing it towards the general for him to hold it, only to realize it was too short to reach Chanyeol at the end of the gigantic beam. Again, before Chanyeol said anything, the boy started turning his head and looking around in rapid motions, he noticed a hook attached to the platform. His eyes lighting up, the boy quickly tied the rope around his waist tightly and the other end to the hook, pulling it to check its strength to not increase the people in need of saving up to two. He looked down at the beam, the almost completely vertical structure which was also completely flat, and at the general, and at the floor ten meters down. Then he proceeded to climb down the beam despite Chanyeol’s “What the hell are you doing?” comments.

Choosing his motions carefully, the boy finally went down enough the beam to stretch his hand to the general, which the general took without a thought. Feeling the boy’s soft hand in his, Chanyeol pulled himself up rapidly and wrapped his arms and legs around the beam. He looked up at the boy climbing the beam ahead of him, movements swift due to his small size and impressive agility. Leaving Chanyeol in the middle of the beam to climb the rest himself, the boy reached the platform and looked down again to see the general following him with the deftness expected from a general. 

He took Chanyeol’s hand to pull him up the platform one last time and then proceeded to untie his rope and put it back next to the corpse. 

“Thank you,” Chanyeol said looking at the boy more carefully now, since the danger of death had passed. He had light brown, fluffy hair now sticking to his forehead with sweat, brown eyes looking eagerly at Chanyeol. He had a linen shirt on him and a pair of black pants. Chanyeol _knew_ he looked familiar, but what was his name?

“You don’t need to thank me, general.”

“What were you doing up here?” Chanyeol asked, feeling a bit uneasy with the inconsistencies in the situation, why was he there? Who was he?

“I heard the servant’s scream.”

Chanyeol thought that wasn't a good excuse since he had shown up practically a minute or less after the servant’s scream, and climbing up the stairs to the ceiling took more than a minute under any circumstance. But he decided to go with it since he had more important things to do at that moment. “I see. Thank you again,” Chanyeol paused. “What is your name?”

“Byun Baekhyun.”

Chanyeol stared at the boy blankly, angry at himself for not remembering that name. “Crown Prince Minseok’s assistant?”

“Yes, general.” 

After a second long pause, Chanyeol talked. “Assistant Baekhyun, I want to talk to you, please.”

Baekhyun looked startled at that, which he immediately took care of, erasing it from his features completely. Though Chanyeol didn't notice it, angry at himself for forgetting such an important witness and suspect of that matter, _Get yourself together,_ he said to himself.

“As you wish, sir.”

Chanyeol nodded, leaving the platform, taking a last look at the body and remembering to grab the arrow. But he didn't see Baekhyun tensing up with the sight of the arrow. 

“I’m sorry you had to see such an unpleasant sight,” he said, referring to the craftsman.

“It’s okay. You get used to it living in the palace; especially after seeing one so saddening just half an hour ago, this doesn't affect me all that much.”

“How long have you been serving Prince Minseok, assistant Baekhyun?” Chanyeol started as he went down the stairs, Baekhyun following him. 

“For four years, general.”

“Where were you during the coronation and the assassination?”

“At the hall.”

“Did you see it?”

“Yes sir, what an unfortunate event.”

“What did you think about Crown Prince Minseok?”

“He would’ve made a great king, just like his father. It had been a pleasure serving him.”

Chanyeol stopped talking for a moment, going down the narrow staircase, his eyes directed right ahead. There was something off about Byun Baekhyun, Chanyeol had a weird feeling. His answers felt like they were memorized, so quick and so well organized; just the things one would want to hear. 

“Did you see any suspicious movement, noise, or anything at all before the murder?”

“No, general. I didn't notice anything.” 

“Do you have any idea why someone might've done this?”

“It is not my place to meddle with those kinds of business, general.”

“I want to hear your opinion.”

“I am not a man of politics sir, I am only an assistant. I understand scolding servants and washing clothes and dressing people up. Not investigations.”

“You are still certified to have an opinion, Assistant Baekhyun.”

He heard the boy inhaling, “A king has lots of enemies, general. That is something even I know. And that’s as far as my knowledge goes.”

Chanyeol didn't answer that, knowing deep in himself that the assistant was just avoiding the question. He knew even from his voice that the assistant was a smart man and his knowledge went far beyond what he said, but he didn't concentrate on it. He needed to deal with the royals before they all left for their hometown or county, Chanyeol didn't have the time to visit each one in their own castle. 

“I see, Assistant Baekhyun,” he said as they reached the end of the stairs. “I have to leave the palace for now, though I’d like you to keep yourself present in the palace, and most importantly, easy to find. I’ll need you in the investigation,” Chanyeol said as he walked towards the hall, looking over his shoulder to raise his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

“Of course, general.” The boy said.

Chanyeol turned his head after getting his response, walking towards the exit of the hall, “Oh and please, take care of the body of the craftsman, Assistant Baekhyun.” 

Baekhyun nodded even though he knew Chanyeol couldn't see him, but he had spent enough time with higher-ups to know that they usually didn't wait for affirmation since they were so used to everything they said to be done. 

He repeated Chanyeol’s commands to one of the servants cleaning the hall and stopped a consultant on their way to inform them of the broken beam.

When Baekhyun had first come to the kingdom as a spy, he hadn't planned any of this.

 


	4. Your Hand in Mine

Baekhyun didn't leave the hall until he was sure that the general had left, watching the latter’s movements as he talked to some servants and gave a couple of commands to the guard standing by the gates. 

“There’s a body upstairs, on the platform next to the beams,” he told one of the servants cleaning the remnants of the king’s murder, who looked back at him in utter dread. “take care of that. And also, find someone to get those beams fixed.” 

Working in the palace for a couple of years and being the crown prince’s assistant, Baekhyun had earned himself a reputation. He was known to be an amusing and cheerful one back at home, but nothing of his could stay when even his name wasn't real. Here, that cheerfulness had turned into a kindness holding malevolent intentions and witty yet sly remarks made with a smile spread across his lips. Other than that, Baekhyun kept up a polite servant’s profile to his higher-ups while making it apparent that his rank was higher than theirs to the people working under him, no eye contact made and words firm. Here, everyone knew him to be the scary assistant of Prince Minseok, he knew every comment made behind him— “Who does he think he is?” “Once Prince Minseok gets tired of him he’s done for good.” “That arrogant bastard.”

Not that Baekhyun cared. He was pleased that people were afraid of him enough to not say these to his face, Baekhyun knew that they all believed his clever, sly and arrogant coverup personality. Though Baekhyun loved the power that came with that image, he sometimes missed being the carefree and buoyant kid. 

With these thoughts in mind, Baekhyun quickly made his way to the main staircase to run up to his room. After checking if anyone was around, he went in and locked the door after himself. Baekhyun had a nice room, an advantage of being the assistant of the crown prince. Decorated stone walls, a fireplace with a pair of decorative duel swords hanging above it, a soft and big bed covered with fine cotton sheets and velvet blankets. Baekhyun wanted to laugh at how if his identity were to be exposed, the only place for him in this place would be the dungeons. And that was the best case scenario.

He looked at the garden from the only window in the room too if anyone was looking his way, then closed the curtains shut. He checked the fireplace before putting more than a necessary amount of wood in it to close any kind of an opening, then lit it on fire. He then pulled his handkerchief from the drawer and tucked it into the keyhole. Being a spy had thought him every single way to observe someone that a commoner could never think of. 

Making sure that he was completely alone in the room, Baekhyun went up to the right wall of the room. Digging his nails into a certain spot, he pulled one of the stones out which hid a small, dusty, wooden chest behind. Taking out the chest, he went to his bed and opened the lid to be confronted with a dozen letters which used to be white but gone yellow over the course of time. They smelt damp and dusty, being in the stone walls all the time. Baekhyun turned the chest upside down to lay the letters on the bed, which came with a small amount of grey dust. 

Baekhyun sighed as he went through the letters one by one; no name on them, no seal, nothing to indicate the sender’s identity, nothing that could help someone trace the letters back. Even he didn't know who wrote the letters, the person who handled the spies frequently changed and he didn't care to keep up with it even when he wasn't on duty. 

Normally, he was instructed to burn the letters the moment he received them but Baekhyun kept these ones which held important information or orders that Baekhyun had to remember word by word. He knew it was dangerous, but he was confident in himself to not die because he couldn't keep a couple of letters hidden. But now that he was a suspect or at least a witness who Chanyeol was now interested in, Baekhyun had to be extra careful. Being a spy was a hard job especially in a palace that had Park Chanyeol in it, Byun Baekhyun was in dangerous waters. 

He had a little amount of time to exterminate anything that could get him killed. 

He walked up to the fireplace and watched the flames blazing for a moment, their warmth forming small beads of sweat on his face. He then grabbed all of the letters and threw them into the fire without a thought since he had memorized almost everything in them after a long time; detailed profiles of the royal family and palace residents who mattered, certain orders that were more important than others, etc. All except one. 

Baekhyun still held another letter in his hands which looked older and more yellow than the others. The first ever letter that Baekhyun had received. Baekhyun opened the letter, it was very short and precise;

 

_Your mission is to exterminate the Crown Prince Kim Minseok during his coronation and to let the authorized person know of the things going on in the palace. Every small piece of information is crucial. Important actions of the personnel from higher ranks must be reported immediately. It will be your job to make your way through the ranks and get closer to the crown prince as much as you can. Stay true to your cause and remember your mission. You are a soldier, loyal to your king and country. In any case of you not obeying your orders, you will be considered a traitor and will be executed at sight._

_Don’t let anyone know your true identity, name or descent. From now on, you are Byun Baekhyun. Good luck soldier._

 

After reading it for the last time, he threw it into the fire with the others. Baekhyun didn't serve that purpose anymore. 

* * *

Jongdae stared at the ceiling. He had been staring for almost half an hour now. Servants came and left, some tried to get him to eat and some tried to get him to sleep. In the end, they all gave up, leaving the prince’s room with exhausted and sad looks in their eyes. Jongdae wasn't feeling anything, he hardly noticed the people coming in and talking to him— words didn't make sense anymore. It felt like it was a completely different language then he had ever been taught, nothing was meaningful to him. He felt like he heard everything as if he was in the water, every single sound wave getting distorted along the way. 

He was shouting at anything that his eyes could notice and breaking anything that his hands could get a hold of around thirty minutes ago, as if he made enough noise Minseok would just appear at the door and try to calm him down. The body down at the great hall would rise and come for his brother. He had gone berserk, three servants at the same time trying to calm him down, pin him to the floor. His hands were bleeding, eyes wet with tears, legs trembling. 

Jongdae would keep crying, keep screaming, keep breaking things if he didn't feel like everything inside of him had leaked outside. He was empty. He didn't know if he was breathing, if his heart was beating. He didn't care. 

 

  * THIRTY MINUTES EARLIER - 



_“Give him back,” Jongdae shouted, trying to escape from the hold of the servants trapping him down. Voice so loud that it was like his vocal cords were getting ripped off, beads of sweat on his forehead and saliva splattering all around with each and every shout. Hair messed up in a way that wouldn't be expected from the most stylish prince, his clothes in no better condition. His jacket on the floor, shirt crumpled and some of the buttons missing. Eyes red, wet and swollen. Prince Jongdae didn't look like himself. “Give him back! Give my brother back! Minseok! Minseok!”_

_A couple of servants held the prince back, grips tight on his arms and belly trying to drag him to his room. He kept on struggling, trying to get away from the servants and to his brother, his beloved brother, Minseok… Minseok…_

_“Prince Jongdae please calm down!” said one of the servants hardly pulling Jongdae along with her, grunts escaping from her mouth._

_“Your Highness, you need to get to your room!”_

_Servants were drenched in sweat not having realized how strong the prince could be when he wanted to, giving them the hardest time of their lives as he stayed pinned on his spot. “Minseok…” His voice was muffled with hiccups and sniffs. Prince Jongdae was the most emotional out of the three brothers, he showed smiles the most and cried at the stupidest things. But when it came down to his family being sad, Jongdae was always there to cheer them up, not showing a hint of sorrow himself, no matter the case. Even when their father died, Jongdae was the one to comfort his brothers, the cold-blooded Prince Junmyeon and the graceful Crown Prince Minseok. He was the palace fool of the royal family, but he was the rock they all leaned on when it was the time for them to show their tears._

_Nobody had seen Jongdae like that before— that messed up, that hurt, that crazy. The cheerful fool of the palace had turned into a broken soul left behind by one of the people he loved the most._

_After shouting and pushing the servants off, throwing kicks and punches around that didn't land on anywhere but the air, trying to make a way out of their tight hold, the prince finally let the servants take him as all of his strength disappeared, his eyes still fixated on his brother’s lifeless body now being wrapped in a white cloth. Jongdae felt like he was dying over and over again with each passing second._

_The servants had to drag his legs through the carpet since Jongdae didn't have the strength to even stand up. Sobs still escaping from his trembling lips, Jongdae was carried away by the servants to his room upstairs, still mumbling his late brother’s name like if he said it enough, Minseok would take Jongdae’s hands and help him walk._

_With just one peek, one look at the stone floor and the palace walls and the stairs he was being carried up, the doors surrounding them and the painted windows letting in colorful daylight, Jongdae was filled with memories of his brother. He had been in this place with Minseok for21 years, running in the hallways and bumping into servants carrying large trays. Breaking windows every now and then and being locked in their rooms for a day as a punishment. Hiding behind those massive doors while playing hide and seek. Running up and down the staircase running from servants trying to catch them and get them to bathe or playing tag with each other or going to welcome their father whom they hadn't seen for a long time._

_The place was reeking with Minseok’s scent, his appearance, and his movements. Him. He was everywhere. As the king’s son, as the crown prince, as his brother, as his friend._

_When the servants had taken him back to his room, Jongdae still felt powerless yet the pain squeezing his hard felt like it was giving him adrenaline shots one after another— everything in his room reminding the prince of his older brother, every memory and every laughter, every tear, every fight and every reconciling session made of hugs and apologizes and so much love. Jongdae couldn't handle the unbearable pain piercing his lungs and squeezing all the air out, leaving him gasping for breath. It was excruciating._

_“Brother, brother…” Jongdae started mumbling again, getting anxious looks from the servants trying to put him on his bed. “Brother… My brother…”_

_“Prince Jongdae, please get on your bed so you are more comfortable.”_

_“Get away from me!” Jongdae shouted chasing all the servants back with a sudden rush of adrenaline. He looked at the walls and saw Minseok, he looked at the fireplace and saw Minseok, he looked at the bed and saw Minseok, the carpet, the floor, the wardrobe, the drawers, the door. Himself. “Get away! Get away! I don’t want you here! I want Minseok! Bring Minseok to me!”_

_He was moving purely on the energy that pain gave him, the agonizing drive coming from the thorns stabbing his heart. The moment that energy drained out, Jongdae felt like he was going to die._

_Tears were streaming down Jongdae’s red and swollen eyes faster than before, his voice now raspy from shouting, so raspy that you could actually tell how much his throat was hurting. “Bring my brother to me!”_

_“Your Highness please calm down!” Pleaded a servant trying to hold Jongdae’s arm and stabilize him, an effort in vain as the prince got crazier and crazier as seconds passed._

_“I want my brother!” Jongdae shouted again, completely out of control, grabbing a glass trinket from the shelf above the fireplace and shattering it to pieces by throwing it on the floor._

_In the slight moments he got away from the servants he tore his sheets, broke everything he could touch, punched the walls hard enough to make his knuckles bleed all over. He wanted to make everything look like his insides when he saw his brother’s body falling to the ground. He wanted to destroy. So he destroyed._

_Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it._

_Jongdae’s cries had turned into unrecognizable grunts, his raspy dripping with agony and the desperate need to destroy. Some of the servants were frowning with their tested patience and annoyance, some of them on the verge of crying, some of them hardly keeping themselves from running away._

_Jongdae didn't even know why he wanted to hurt things— maybe if he broke and shattered and hurt enough, the pain inside of him would transfer onto those objects being torn into their fragments. Maybe if he hurt other things, his hurt would go away. Maybe he wanted control, he wanted the control of the pain on his punches, on the tip of his fingers, maybe then the pain inside of him wouldn't be so unbearable._

_He barely heard some servants numbing something as one of them ran out of the room, not understanding what they were saying in his crazy haze. Jongdae wasn't even controlling his body anymore, he felt like he was drunk and floating. He could see his hands keeping at shattering trinkets and kicking his bed and breaking windows, but he didn't feel any of it anymore._

_Jongdae wanted to cry and cry and cry, cry and whine like a kid whose lollipop had been taken from him, maybe if he cried enough they'd give him back. Maybe if he cried enough Minseok would come and comfort him, like a thousand times before. Maybe Jongdae deemed himself to be as helpless as he was back when they were kids, Minseok would come back to save him. But without Minseok, Jongdae was already as helpless as that._

_Jongdae didn't notice the servant barging in with one of the medics’ servants with her who held a bottle and a cloth in her hands. Jongdae was still acting like he had gone berserk as they approached him, like an animal detecting a hostile intention Jongdae threw himself on the floor, rolling from one side to another. “Brother…” His voice was barely understandable due to his crying mixed with it. “Minseok… Come back to me… I beg you… Please…”_

_His energy was completely drained as it was easier for the servants to hold his limbs down and the servant to push the cloth onto his nose. Jongdae felt the life being sucked out of each of his veins, a hole opening inside of him as everything in him leaked outside. Until he was an empty shell._

_As his world went dark, Jongdae wondered if he was going to die._

 

Jongdae wasn't dead. His lifeless eyes were staring right at the ceiling. He didn’t feel the silk sheets he was laying on, or the cold air of the room, he didn't feel anything. 

He had been moved to a guest room when the servant made him faint to calm him down since his room was a complete mess now: glass on the floor, curtains, and sheets torn apart…The room he was now in was much smaller than his normal room though it didn't matter for Jongdae as he looked like he wasn't even aware of where he was. The only sign of the things that had happened thirty minutes ago was the cuts and bruises on Jongdae’s body, his bandages hands due to all the bleeding cuts he had got from squeezing the glass trinkets in his bare hands and his bloodshot, swollen eyes. 

When Jongdae drifted into a dark void with the touch of a wet cloth placed on his nose, something inside of him desperately wanted that void— it pushed itself towards it until Jongdae found himself in a depthless hole. He had decided he liked it because the feeling inside of him was gone, that heart-crushing, excruciating thing that awakened the desperate need to destroy wasn't there anymore. Nothing was there, to be exact, Jongdae was empty, like a shell. He could feel the liquid darkness of the void going through him as if he was permeable. He liked that state, he liked being on the thin line between existence and just a blank world.

But it didn't last long, soon enough the void was sucked into a whirlpool and Jongdae had found himself blinded by a light, which was followed by thousands of images flashing before his eyes, making them hurt. He felt like all of those images, all of those memories were going straight to his head but at the same time, he could see every single detail of them right in front of his eyes too. Memories of his brother. The time Minseok had slept in Jongdae’s bed because Jongdae was too scared due to the storm outside, the time they had thrown balloons full of water to the passers-by in the garden, the time Minseok had dragged Jongdae out of the kitchen where he was stuffing the muffins that were meant for the feast in his mouth as he was flirting with a couple of the maids there. With each image Jongdae felt that crushing feeling coming back to him, squeezing his heart and lungs. And in the end, when he was left alone in the void again, all he could feel was agony and loneliness.

When he woke up, he didn't scream or talk or ask where his brother was— he didn't suspect that anything had been a dream as he remembered pretty vividly everything that had happened. He knew it, nobody had to remind him. He knew it the moment he opened his eyes that his brother was gone, and he would never come back. 

“I told the servants to leave,” a familiar voice said, though Jongdae didn't look its way. “I thought you could go berserk again if you saw them the first thing you woke up.” Junmyeon was sitting next to Jongdae on the bed, looking at the lifeless expression on his brother’s face. 

He turned his head again for the fifth time as Jongdae still didn't answer him, eyes wandering on the engravings on the walls. Junmyeon had never seen Jongdae like that, so messed up and so desperate. So lifeless. Junmyeon himself wasn't in his normal state as his clothes were messy, hair pointing all directions but his face had gone back to its serious state again, the only exception being the small hint of grief and exhaustion on his face. He inhaled.

“Jongdae?” He tried again, eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer.He took his brother’s hand in his, bloody and bruised and dreadfully cold. “Hey, Jongdae.”

He finally managed to get an answer from his brother when Jongdae mumbled something Junmyeon couldn't understand, it was good enough for Junmyeon anyway. “How are you, Jongdae?” He wasn't surprised when Jongdae didn’t answer that. No witty remarks like _how do you think I am?_ or _how do I look like?_

Junmyeon gulped. “I know I’m not Minseok, Jongdae, but I am still your brother.” He squeezed his hand. “You’re not alone.”

Junmyeon smiled when his brother squeezed his hand back, it was very weak and maybe if it was another person they wouldn't even notice it, but Junmyeon had noticed it. And it was enough. 

Junmyeon stopped talking though he didn't let go of his brother’s hand. 

The faint knock was heard on the door, so faint that it felt like the one knocking through the door would shatter with any kind of a harsher movement. 

“Come in,” murmured Junmyeon, voice faint enough to resemble the knock.   
A servant came in with tray in her hands which held a glass cup and a pot. Junmyeon nodded at her to bring the tray, which she did and left immediately after bowing to the two princes. Junmyeon wasn't surprised at the attitude servants now took towards Jongdae considering he had gone berserk half an hour ago. It broke Junmyeon’s heart to see Jongdae being treated like this.Jongdae had always been the most adored brother due to his fun personality, his constant jokes, and flirtatious lines and his ability to lighten the mood at all times. And now he was an empty shell.

“Jongdae, I got some chamomile tea made for you. Your favorite.” Junmyeon smiled as he held the tray towards Jongdae, who only took a small peek at it.

“Come on brother,” said Junmyeon. “Have one sip, it will cool you off a bit and maybe it will ease your headache. You must have a bad one right now.”

Jongdae _did_ have a bad headache, a bad ache all over his body in that case, especially in his heart. But that couldn't be fixed anyway, so he decided to take his brother’s kind offer. 

 

Junmyeon loved his brothers, both of them, he had grown up with them as an adopted child but never once had they treated him like one. They had always taken in Junmyeon as their real brother, talked to him like that, acted with him like that. Junmyeon had always kept his distance because he sometimes felt like he didn't belong there but it was never their fault— after his parents, respected leaders of one of the kingdom’s most trusted clans, were killed in the war and the king adopted him,he couldn't have asked for a better family. 

But Junmyeon wasn't the one to mourn, he did go visit his family’s graves every month to pay his respects but he moved on. Just like he would move on with Minseok’s death. And nevertheless, he had other plans. 

* * *

A weird kind of silence conquered the long dining table with the two brothers seated on the two ends and the queen in the middle. The wooden table with carvings by the best craftsmen in the country was covered with a narrow, velvet tablecloth. Expensive silverware laid next to the porcelain plates of each of the royal family members, a crystal glass filled with fine wine accompanying them. Three silver candelabras were placed on the table, lighting the food and each other’s faces. If they wanted to see the broken expression in the others’ faces was a question though. 

Jongdae was the one to gobble up everything edible visible to his eye when he felt sad. When his favorite horse had died, he had made the cooks of the palace bake a cake for him each and every day for half a month. He had to stop when he wasn't able to leave his bed with a medic always keeping watch next to him for four days since his stomach hadn't taken all that sugar very well. Junmyeon, always knowing his limits, never ate too much anyways. This usually wasn't altered by his moods since Junmyeon’s moods didn't vary a lot anyways and even when they changed, it wasn't easy to tell. Queen Taeyeon resembled her step-son in that case, the food on her plate was always the same for her mood changes were never visible from the outside. 

Despite the amount of table on the table, which was too much for three people in all aspects, the three plates were almost empty. Other than the small pieces of duck, some mashed potatoes with sauce and vegetables, no one had bothered to add anything to their plate. 

Everyone was trying to avert their gazes from the eerily empty spot in the table.

Queen Taeyeon looked at her two sons: Jongdae playing with the food on his plate, pushing the vegetables back and forth with his fork and Junmyeon taking small and steady sips from his wine. She had been cutting the piece of duck in her plate for ten minutes now and she knew very well that it had gotten small enough for her to swallow it without the need to chew. But that had never been her intention anyway. 

Queen Taeyeon was the princess of a kingdom that this one wanted to be allies with and had married Prince Heechul of that time for that exact reason. Though their marriage hadn't arose from love, it definitely had grown into it. Both Taeyeon and Heechul were fascinated with one another, their wisdom and intelligence and strength and everything that made them, them. King Heechul would never be the king nor the man he had become without Queen Taeyeon by his side.

Queen Taeyeon was a very strong woman, after losing her husband she had handled the entire kingdom until Minseok’s coronation. Despite the backlash in the beginning since she was a woman, she had managed the entire country as well as her husband had. All of the palace residents and attendants loved the queen and even the ones that doubted her powers had recognized her grace after she had taken charge.

Queen Taeyeon hadn't cried even once after her husband, the beloved king whom everyone adored. The king had been bitten by a poisonous snake during one of his expeditions into the virgin forests of the country to find new herbal remedies and since nobody had been able to seize the snake the medics weren't able to produce any kind of an antidote or any cure in that matter. It had taken two days for the king to die and his wife and his sons couldn't do anything but watch. For those two days which had felt like two years, Queen Taeyeon was to conduct the medics, take up her husband’s job, be there for her children who were trying to cope with their father dying right in front of them and not to break down herself. Even though Taeyeon thought those two days were the longest and the hardest time of her life, she still had managed it just fine. But she wasn't so sure about how she would manage this one. 

She put a smile to her face, let her gaze go back and forth between her two sons. It shattered her to see the two empty spots in the table but still, looking at her sons made something in her heart sparkle. It broke her heart to see the desperate expressions on their faces but even their mere existence, just the knowledge that they were there and their hearts were still beating was enough to make Queen Taeyeon smile. With all the latest events, she had come to learn that even being alive was a blessing, especially for a royal family. 

She knew she had to do something to help her two sons get back up, losing their father and their brother one after another was too much for them. Maybe someone else would think of that as an additional job or even a burden but for Taeyeon, being there for her children helped her overcome things too.

“Daedae,” she said in her soft voice and with smiling lips. “Myeonnie. Why don't you guys come up to my room for a bit?”

Staring at their mom’s strange request the boys fell silent for a bit. Junmyeon was looking over to Queen Taeyeon with the crystal glass still pressuring his lips and Jongdae had finally turned his gaze to his mother after staring motionlessly at his food for god knows how long. Overcoming the shock of a sound in the heartbreakingly silent dining room, they got up from their chairs without a word to show their mother their response. 

Queen Taeyeon smiled gently at her sons’ obedience as she got up herself. Before the boys left the dining room after the queen, Jongdae drank the entire wine in his glass in one go. 

 

They exited the dining room and turned to the stairs, following the route to the queen’s room. Although the room was originally meant for both the king and the queen, Taeyeon usually had to live in it by herself as her husband was a busy man. The only time Taeyeon could see Heechul without interruption for a whole month was when he was still a prince and back then they had a different room. So this room was a part of Queen Taeyeon’s solitude. Which was suddenly converted to a warm place with her sons’ presence, despite the broken pieces in their hearts. 

“Jongdae dear, would you be kind enough to light the fireplace?” Queen Taeyeon said as she sat on her bed. 

Jongdae obeyed her mother, throwing some pieces of wood into the fireplace and lighting them on fire; warmness and light filling the room. 

Taeyeon patted the sheets, signing for her children to accompany her. Jongdae walked up to her mother, his movements still without joy and slow but now sad, rather than empty. Junmyeon was still standing in the corner, eyes watching the fire as he contemplated for a few seconds. 

Junmyeon had always been the one to keep a proper distance from the king, the queen and the other princes for no matter how hard they tried to make him a part of the family, he could never get the thought that he was adopted out of his head. Hesitating at first, he decided to be a little different this time. When he looked at Queen Taeyeon’s gentle face and features, Junmyeon didn't think of the word “mother” but nevertheless, she had always been there for Junmyeon. Caring for him, trusting him, loving him as much as her other sons. Junmyeon owed her at least that much. 

He walked up to Queen Taeyeon to take his place next to his mother and brother, all of them sitting on the bed and watching the fire without a word.

“You silly boys, why do you still have these on?” said Queen Taeyeon as he unbuckled her sons' thick jackets, which would make them sweat in no time in their place in front of the fire. Putting the clothes on the bedside table, “Come, my children,” said Taeyeon, tapping on her legs slightly for the boys to get the message. 

Junmyeon, after a pause, mimicked Jongdae's pose, which was his head on his mother’s legs and rest of his body curled up in a ball. He felt a bit weird doing that but when Queen Taeyeon started running her fingers through their hair, Junmyeon felt eerily safe and warm. 

“Jongdae,” she said, “Junmyeon, you two are the most valuable things are the world for me. You know that right?”

Being answered with only silence from her sons, she pulled them more towards herself. “Your father adored you. Your brother would do anything for you. I love you two more than anything in this world.” Taeyeon lowered her voice a bit as if she was telling a secret. “We only have each other now.” The queen pet the heads of her sons. “Promise me something, okay? Take care of one another. Always.” She paused for a second and the only sound filling the room was the soft crunches of the burning wood and the breathing of the three. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” said Jongdae with a shaky voice, indicating he was on the verge of breaking into tears. 

“Me too,” murmured Junmyeon, eyes still spacing out in the darkness visible from the window. 

“I love you,” said the queen, not being able to prevent a teardrop escaping her eye. 

That’s when Jongdae couldn't control himself anymore, bursting into tears and burying his face into his mother’s gown and sobbing in a muffled sound, nodding as an answer to his mother.

“I love you too mom,” said Junmyeon, the word foreign in his mouth, his hand slowly stroking his crying brother’s hair. 


	5. Chapter 4: Smoke and Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! Sorry for the long wait. Please leave comments if you like the work, I would really appreciate it!  
> Have a great day!

When Chanyeol came back to the palace it was already pitch black outside, night had taken over the city and the palace. Apart from the candles attached to long, black posts in the garden and the lanterns the guards next to the gates were carrying, the palace was drenched in black. 

Chanyeol was thumping his feet on the ground loud enough for the guards to hear him from a distance, ending their chatter and getting into the posture they were supposed to be in in the first place. 

As the general went through the main gates of the palace, the guards standing by didn't even salute him, already frightened by the general’s movements and too afraid to move the slightest.  
Chanyeol was furious— teeth clenched, hands forming fists, breathing in and out of his nose rapidly, eyebrows crossed. He quickly walked through the long road from the outer garden gates to the main gates of the palace, his steps echoing in the garden, empty except for a few other guards, who were trying to stare at him without letting him notice. He was swearing in his mind all along the way, some of the words unintentionally escaping from between his teeth.

Just as he reached the front gates he was ready to punch one of the guards who apparently didn't care about their duties as they were laughing about some maids in the palace. But the doors were opened just in time as the guards noticed the livid general and went back to their posts. Without wasting his time on some stupid brats Chanyeol made his way into the palace in a pace between running and walking, not bothering to talk or even look at anyone. The only people still awake at this hour were the guards, who peeked suspiciously at Chanyeol yet didn't say a word because the general who was already intimidating became terrifying when he was angry, which didn't happen all that often. 

Chanyeol opened the door to his office harshly and slammed it back when he went inside. He threw himself to the chair in front of his desk, slamming a punch into the wood before placing his head against his fingers to calm down.

The general’s office was a large room with a desk towards the right, a bookcase full of maps and strategy tips and information on other kingdoms and clans and notes he took during battles and wars. In a chest next to the bookcase there were all kinds of weapons dear to Chanyeol: his first bow that he had carved out of wood himself, a crossbow his father had brought him from a coastal town, a couple of swords he had taken as spoils of war from his enemies and some he had made himself, the duel swords of his father that he used as a teenager in duels to impress girls and axes and a sack of caltrops and many more. But the most important ones of these weapons, the ones that were the dearest to Chanyeol, were hung in his wall in such splendor that they were the first thing anyone coming into the room noticed. 

They were hung on the stone wall opposite of the door, shining next to each other. One was a set of twin swords with pitch black handles which had golden cravings on them, his father’s most important weapon. And next to it shone an immaculate longsword almost as long as Chanyeol’s leg, with a silver handle and curvy engravings adorning it. The inscriptions of both of the handles read _Park._

They were the dearest weapons to Chanyeol’s parents, the ones which their hands held the last since they were the weapons they used in the battle that had killed both of them. 

 

Chanyeol took a deep breath before he was ready to open his eyes again. He had spent the entire day talking to all the nobles who had attended the coronation, asking each and every one of them if they had seen or heard anything if they knew something. Most of the time he was answered with everything but the answer he was looking for, people freaking out about the incident or telling Chanyeol what a shame it was or shouting at him to take more precautions since it could've been any of them who got that arrow through their skull. 

After interrogating almost 500 people Chanyeol still had nothing. With the thought constantly coming back to his head Chanyeol had the urge to punch his desk again. He decided that sitting there would only enrage him more and he got up to get out of his office.  
He marched in the palace, mostly dim since the candles weren't bright enough to keep the long hallways completely lit. He walked more calmly now, his steps had stopped echoing in the isolated palace. Chanyeol liked his late night walks, sometimes in the stone cold corridors of the palace, sometimes the garden and sometimes even the city streets. The streets weren't the safest place at nights but Chanyeol was the best warrior in the whole country so he had nothing to worry about either way.

He always had things in his mind for which he needed silence and solitude — all kinds of war plans, domestic affair problems, possible betrayals— and the lonely roads in the night were the best place for those. 

As he walked along the corridors, noticing a few unlit candles and making a note in his mind to let someone know of it and check them, he decided to go to the kitchen. The kitchen was Chanyeol’s first stop on his palace-late-night strolls probably always because it always had a large alcohol stock and it always cleared Chanyeol’s head from any unwanted feelings that might blur his judgment. Also, he just simply needed to relax sometimes. 

Chanyeol quickly and quietly walked, encountering some night guards on his way. It seemed that the rumor of Chanyeol being furious had spread quickly for the guard took their posts the second they saw him and saluted him more respectfully than ever. The guards on night duty didn't have much to do but gossip so Chanyeol didn't really blame them, he didn't really care either. As long as they didn't leave their position, they could do whatever they wanted.

Chanyeol finally went into the gigantic kitchen, cooking every day for the royal family members (which weren't a lot, since they were down to three now), servants, assistants, guards and soldiers, consultants, basically, anybody who was in the palace. He passed the enormous wooden counters still stained and covered in small food particles and made his way to the storage unit, which held the food supplies for hundreds of people. So, the storage was even bigger than the kitchen.

The alcohol cabinets were downstairs, so as Chanyeol walked towards the stairs behind the shelves and chests filled with autumn vegetables, he heard a weird noise. It was a weird mix of hushing and mumbling, which caught Chanyeol’s attention.

He stopped walking and listened more carefully, making sure he wasn't alone in the storage unit. He decided that the sound was coming from the part of the lentil bags so he walked towards the canvas sacks. He was sure now, as the noise was getting louder and louder as he approached. 

His hand went to his dagger hung on his belt, making a silent yet sharp noise as the blade scraped against its sheath.

Chanyeol turned the corner to be confronted with his opponent and the resource of the noise, only to see a tall, thin boy hastily taking potatoes out of a sack and putting them into a weird bag with incredibly many patches on it which looked dirty and worn out. Realizing that the opponent wasn't an opponent, after all, Chanyeol put his dagger back to its sheath and took a deep breath and thanked God, because he didn't want to handle anything more today.

The noise of the blade made the young boy’s head snap up, eyes brimming with terror as he noticed Chanyeol. Chanyeol didn't even know if the boy knew him or if he was scared because he had been caught stealing from the palace kitchen. 

The boy opened and closed his eyes for a couple of times, caught red-handed with the old bag and potatoes still next to him. He was clearly at a loss of words, most probably from the utter terror. 

Eventually, a breathy “I…” sound came out of his mouth although nothing followed it. So, Chanyeol decided to take the lead.

“Stand up,” he said as he looked straight at the boy, but his voice wasn't firm. He was both tired and had seen that the boy didn't hold any malevolent intentions so he had no reason to threaten him or anything of that sort.

The boy stood up and Chanyeol managed to see how thin he was, even under the dim light which made everything blur into the shadows. He looked like he had been eating one meal a day all his life, thin arms sticking out of his sides and his small body barely standing on his lanky legs. Chanyeol thought the boy was probably one of the poor villagers, and the boy’s dirty clothes and the smell of manure coming from them proved him right. The poor boy was probably starving, along with his family.

“Mercy…” The boy finally managed to say, falling onto his knees which seemed to shake incredibly. He lowered his head, raised his hands that he clapped together on top of his head as if he was worshipping Chanyeol. “Please…” 

“Stand,” Chanyeol said. He wanted to cut it short. He wasn't going to kill the boy, or even punish or accuse him of anything. “Stand,” he repeated as the boy remained in the exact same position, probably because he was sure he was going to be beheaded the moment he rose. 

But not obeying orders was also another reason to be beheaded, so the boy had no other choice. Standing up on his shaking legs, he looked at Chanyeol with tears forming in his eyes. He looked like he was getting ready to his end.

“You can take the whole sack,” said Chanyeol and turned his back, heading for the stairs leading down to the vault, leaving a paralyzed villager behind. 

The boy wasn't able to move an inch for a moment, not believing what just had happened and not understanding why his head was still attached to his body. Then, he was sure that the general was just playing games on him and he would be gone for good the second he took the potato sack, guards would flood the room and he would be hung in no time. 

But eventually, the boy snapped out of his crazy haze and snatched the potato sack, running away, as Chanyeol heard from the footsteps as he went downstairs. The kid was so light on his feet that even though he was running like crazy, his footsteps were faint. Chanyeol thought that the boy could've made a great spy but quickly dismissed the idea, not wanting anything other than the investigation on his mind.

He opened one of the cabinets, taking a glass from there and filling it up from one of the wine barrels. He quickly gulped it down as if it was water and then filled a pitcher with it, taking both that and the glass as he went upstairs again. 

Chanyeol swiftly climbed the stairs again and made his way to the murder scene with a glass and a pitcher swinging in his hands. He knew that there was probably nothing left to investigate there since at this point he had memorized every part of the hall completely but he still needed to make sure. That was the place the killing had happened anyway if there was going to be some magnificent clue that was going to lead Chanyeol to the killer, it was going to be there. 

He stepped into the now almost pitch black main hall. Setting the pitcher and the glass — once he had emptied it by gulping the liquid down— onto one of the tables, Chanyeol stared at the ceiling. Now that it was dark it was almost invisible but Chanyeol had memorized every part of it nonetheless, and with the faint light coming from the candles on the walls his memory was supported. He knew he wasn't really going to notice anything from just staring at the ceiling so he let his thought wander around. The cracked beam, the small drop of blood, and especially the glandium arrow. The image of that shining metal had been engraved onto his brain and it was definitely driving him crazy. How could that even be possible? Glandium mines had been emptied _years_ ago. With it being such a valuable metal, Chanyeol surely would've known if it still existed— right? Maybe it had been made years before when glandium was still available… But it looked so _new._ Maybe it was made from an old weapon which was melted and solidified again? But hadn't all glandium-containing-weapons been collected for the army? Just what the hell was going on?

Chanyeol felt like he was going crazy. To keep himself from slamming his fists into yet another innocent table, he filled the glass again only to empty it in a matter of seconds. 

He turned to the spot the carpet ended, the spot slightly elevated onto a platform with a few stairs going up to it. The place the king’s corpse was lying on, just that morning. Chanyeol walked up to the platform, looked closely with the slight hope of finding something yet as he expected, there was nothing. Chanyeol sat on the platform and looked up at the beam the killer had been on. Had the king saw his death coming? Had he seen the glimmer of the glandium arrow and wondered what that was? Had he realized it all or chose to stay silent or did he not have the time to speak? Or did he not see it coming at all?

Each option made Chanyeol’s heartache in a different way. Chanyeol had never been close with the king, he wouldn't even call them friends. The only time he spoke to him usually were business-related, reasons arose from him being the price and Chanyeol being the general. But he knew he was a gentle person. He knew King Minseok’s heart was one of the kindest and he knew he was one of the people that didn't deserve to die in this country. Just thinking about it made something inside of Chanyeol ache— thinking of the king’s gentle smile towards him, the delicacy of his actions and movements. It was probably something Chanyeol had gotten from his parents— watching innocent people die made something in Chanyeol die as well. The fact that these people who had so much to live ahead of themselves were sacrificed to wars that didn't even concern them made him angry, the fact that he couldn't protect them made Chanyeol _furious._

Chanyeol hadn’t been able to keep the king alive, at least he could find who was behind his death. 

He grabbed his glass and headed out of the main hall, leaving the now empty pitcher behind. 

_\- SEVEN YEARS AGO -_

_Chanyeol could hear the giggles and joyful conversations coming from the dining hall where the royal family ate at. He could hear the king’s humble voice, laughing at his sons’ jokes and occasionally telling one himself. He could hear the queen’s voice telling the boys to not to make a mess of the table in the gentlest voice and giggling. He could hear Prince Jongdae, with the loudest voice, telling stories and commenting on others and complaining about something Minseok had done the other day. He could hear Prince Minseok denying Jongdae, desperately trying to prove himself to his parents. He could hear Prince Junmyeon, with the most silent voice which rarely melted into a soft giggle or a tease against his brothers._

_Chanyeol had been standing next to the dining hall’s entrance for almost half an hour now. When he was passing through he had heard the joyful chatter and he had just frozen in his spot— he hadn't been able to get his body to move. He stood there, listening to the chatter and laughter and Chanyeol didn't even know if it made him sad or happy anymore. He didn't know why he was doing that— he had to get to work. There were plans to be made and wars to be planned and soldiers to be trained and guards to be assigned and—_

_There were all the things his father had left for him to do._

_It had been one and a half weeks since Chanyeol’s father had died. Chanyeol wouldn't have taken it as a shock really, he was taught how ethereal life is all his life, his entire family being members of the army. People died, that’s how the world worked. Chanyeol never tried to deny the fact that he would lose his parents someday, but that never prepared him for the actual moment. And for some reason, he had always thought they would help each other out with the remaining parent, they would survive together. Chanyeol had never thought both his parents would die at the same time._

_And now he had all of his father’s job to do since he was the general now. He knew what was expected of him— that’s why he hadn't cried at the funeral. That’s why he hadn't turned down any mission given to him since then despite people being hesitant about giving work to a newly-orphaned child. Chanyeol had a reputation to protect, he had his family honor to pursue._

_But fuck, did he hate it so much sometimes. Chanyeol knew, no matter how deep inside of him he buried it, he knew he wanted his family back. No matter how many times he was taught dead would never return and that death was just a natural occurrence in life, it didn't matter. The palace walls around him didn't matter, the expensive clothing on him didn't matter, all the guards and soldiers bowing to him didn't matter. He was just fifteen years old, for God’s sake, he just wanted his family back. And he hated the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to get them back._

_“General?”_

_Chanyeol almost jumped in his place with the sudden silhouette appearing behind him. “Y-your Highness,” he unintentionally stuttered, quickly pulling himself together and bowing down._

_“Please, lift your head,” said the prince gently. Chanyeol almost felt his heart being stroked by the prince’s soft voice. “Are you okay, general?”_

_Chanyeol blinked, only then realizing his wet eyes. God, he hated himself so much crying in front of the oldest prince— he was making himself appear like a coward, he was ruining his family’s reputation, he was a disgrace he was a disappointment he was— “General, I am very sorry about your father.” Prince’s smile melted into a more grave and yet caring expression._

_Prince’s angelic voice brought Chanyeol back to his self once again. He took a deep breath, promising himself not to internally break down one more time. “Thank you, your Highness.”_

_Minseok seemed to be thinking something for a second, his eyes drifting off into the distance. “General,” he finally said. “please, come eat with us.”_

_Chanyeol couldn't do anything but stare for a moment, he didn't know if he had heard correctly. “Excuse me?”_

_“I am asking you to come inside and eat with us, General Chanyeol.”_

_Chanyeol opened his mouth, then closed it again, opened, closed and finally opened it for sure. “That would be inappropriate, your Highness.”_

_“Why would it be? I am asking you, aren’t I?”_

_“I should really get to work, my Prince—“_

_“General, please.” Minseok smiled. “Are you going to deny your prince’s request?”_

_Chanyeol quickly shook his head, having no choice left, led into the dining room with the prince’s hand on his back, guiding him. Even though Chanyeol was much taller and muscular than the prince, he felt like he was his younger brother for a second. Walking towards the table, he noticed all the royal family members looking at him with shock for a second, which then turned into gentle and welcoming smiles. The moment Chanyeol sat down with the family members, he was served food from the same table, Jongdae had started bombarding him with questions, Junmyeon was quietly telling him not to mind his loud brother, the king was asking about if his new room was comfortable… And Prince Minseok was smiling at him. And Chanyeol was smiling back._

 

Chanyeol marched towards the hallways, grabbing a torch from one of the walls. He knew if he went back to his room without at least starting to look around the place aside from the main hall, he wouldn't be able to sleep all night. Chanyeol knew where he needed to look at first, making his way to the secret passageways of the palace. If the murderer had got in and out of the palace without anyone noticing— it had to be a place away from everyone’s gaze. 

Chanyeol knew each one of these passageways since he was 12— where each one started from and ended at, which ones should be used for which occasions, which ones were big enough to evacuate the royal family by and which ones were small enough to let spies in and out without being noticed. Chanyeol had had all of them memorized. 

The passageways were all underground, which meant them incredibly dark and which meant Chanyeol had to look from up close to every single thing so that he didn't miss anything. After twenty minutes of examining each passageway from the entrance to the ending, the flames of the torch had started to make him sweat and Chanyeol couldn't look straight up from rubbing his eyes every 2 minutes. He didn't know how long he had been up but it was definitely long. Chanyeol was getting a bit worried that he might miss a clue in that condition. 

Getting out of his seventh passageway Chanyeol was angry that he hadn't found anything. No blood, no weapon left behind, no piece of clothing or _anything_ the murderer could have dropped. Nothing. The passageways were completely empty. 

Chanyeol leaned on the wall to take a deep breath before going into another passageway. Ready to be disappointed he turned the corner, looking into the pitch black passageway for a second. Chanyeol firstly checked the walls around him to see if he could catch any kind of clue, then the floor in case anything had dripped down. Repeating this process by every step, Chanyeol had gotten to the middle of the passageway when he finally thought he had seen something odd— he bent down and brought the torch closer to the weird stains on the ground, only to realize it was blood. So, this was the passageway the murderer had used. 

Chanyeol slightly smiled at his new discovery, thoughts filling up his head again. The blood on the beam and here indicated that the murderer had been injured— the blood wasn't too much so Chanyeol could say that it was a minor wound though, with such an expert who could kill the king in plain sight, Chanyeol did think that the guy could've come up with a trick to minimize the blood loss as well. Though there were no ongoing battles at the moment —none that concerned their country anyway— so nobody needed to be sent off to battles, which would make a newly-wounded stranger going around arise suspicion. If it was a minor wound he would probably be able to cover it up by saying it was some sort of a gang conflict but if it was something more serious, nobody would buy that. Chanyeol was almost sure it had been caused by the arrows shot by the guards towards the beam, so it had to be an arrow wound. Anyone with a little experience could tell an arrow wound from the type of daggers that gangs used and any fool in the country would know that gangs didn't use arrows. 

With these thoughts in mind Chanyeol quickly yet carefully marched towards the end of the passageway— maybe he had hidden somewhere around there? Chanyeol guessed he wasn't that dumb but going into the city wasn't the best choice either. Maybe he had an ally in the city he could stay at? But people would still be weirded out by a bloody and wounded man casually going down the street, wouldn't they? Maybe someone had helped him. 

Chanyeol finally found himself outside of the palace, the cold night air biting at his skin. The bloodstains had ended long ago, it was actually only around 10 drops anyway. But even that small of a clue would help Chanyeol— he at least knew the murderer was wounded. 

But Chanyeol looked around, unable to keep himself from getting hopeful and there was nobody in sight. 

The passageway led to the horse-training area of the palace. Well, actually it led to its storage unit full of hay and bridles and saddles still in the process of making. Chanyeol started walking around, taking a look at the piles of hay and leather saddles. Chanyeol knew nobody with a bleeding wound would stay in a place like this, full of horse shit, which was an invitation to instant infection, he knew it was never that easy but he just wanted whoever it was that turned the world upside-down for the whole palace—hell, the whole country— in a matter of seconds, to be there. Yet, there was no clue or a body or person or blood or fingerprints or _any fucking thing_ in sight. Another dead-end. 

Chanyeol punched the wall with all he the energy he had left, which was still enough to make his knuckles bleed from just one encounter with the stone wall. He took a deep breath and went into the palace again, deciding it wasn't a good idea to do anything more that night, both for himself and any kind of punch-able thing around him. 

* * *

He had been holding his breath, hiding behind the piles of hay, praying to every God he knew to be left unnoticed. He could see the general in front of the hidden entrance to the passageway, looking around himself in fury. 

Normally, he would've been out the second the general had let him have the whole potato sack since being inside the palace without permission wasn’t something Sehun was exactly keen on but he had forgotten the way to the passageway he had come through. The boy had told him how to get in from outside but he hadn't told him how to get to the passageway again from inside the palace. He had probably thought Sehun would remember the way but sneaking into the palace was stressful enough for Sehun’s mind to not think of anything else for the time being. He had wandered around the palace for some time, dragging the sack behind him and trying to find the damn passageway, running away whenever he thought he heard some sort of sound even if it was unclear enough to be just a figment of his imagination. 

When he had finally found the correct passageway after a couple of tries which almost got him lost in a maze of narrow corridors and traps, he had heard footsteps. And then a shadow he had seen not more than half an hour ago— General Park Chanyeol.

Sehun could only run for his life because he knew there wasn't any place to hide around there, that passageway was a straight corridor without any indentations, and if he were to go into another one he was sure he would be lost. So maybe Sehun really _was_ light on his feet, because the general hadn’t heard even a bit, the boy running through the passageway seconds before he had come in. 

Sehun let himself take one last peek at the doorway, slightly raising his head from behind the hay piles and hardly controlled his urge to scream when the general suddenly punched the wall. He sat back, wide-eyed staring into the sky, trying to get his breath under control again— _shit_ , that scared him. 

Sehun breathed in and out continuously in order to stop panting for a moment, too afraid to check if the general was gone. The furious general’s footsteps were the exact opposite of Sehun’s— loud and very noticeable, so Sehun would probably hear if he left, but he wasn't taking any chances. After a minute or two, he wasn't sure, he checked again with the utmost caution, barely turning his head and just taking peek out of the corner of his eye. He barely saw the now-empty doorway but it was enough to give Sehun the courage he needed, now turning his head and checking more carefully. The general was indeed gone.

Sehun threw himself onto the pile, letting himself breathe and calm down for a second, not minding the horrible smell of the place. After he had managed to catch his breath, Sehun remembered his mission again and grabbed the potato sack from behind the pile, running away from the palace and the general and possible execution as fast as possible.

Growing up in the village, constantly running errands for his family and neighbors since he was small and being forced to steal bread and fruit or other minor things by his brothers, Sehun had managed to grow into a fast-runner, and a very silent one. 

He jumped over the fences enclosing the area, forcing his legs to run faster and faster. He could feel a slight ache taking them over but he didn't have the luxury of resting at that moment. 

Finally, he saw a pitiful excuse for a hut in the distance— the feeble light of the fire inside was reflecting on one of the dirty windows. Sehun smiled to himself, relieved. 

When he reached the hut he quickly opened the door and came in, setting the potato sack aside and collapsing next to the wall himself. He pulled his legs towards himself, setting his arms on them and bowing his head down, trying to catch his breath yet again. Running around without much nutrition in his body was never good. 

He hadn’t realized how cold it was outside until he felt the warmth of the weak flames on his skin— he let himself be warmed as he threw his head back and closed his eyes like he hadn't experienced one of the scariest things in his life a few minutes before. 

Feeling his body turn normal again, he got up and took a few potatoes from the sack, walking towards the makeshift fireplace and the boy lying on an old mattress next to it. 

Grabbing a rusty pot from one of the shelves he set it on the fire, pouring in water from a pitcher. “I got food,” Sehun murmured in a tired yet soft voice. He seated himself next to the boy on the floor, taking a small, almost blunt knife from under the mattress and started peeling one of the potatoes. He turned to the kid next to him as he didn't answer Sehun. Although he still looked bad he wasn't as bad as when Sehun had first found him. Beads of sweat were making his brown hair stick to his forehead, a wheezing breath escaped between his chapped lips every now and then. His eyes were almost closed yet Sehun could see him looking around from the slight gap between them. 

“You need to eat,” Sehun said, continuing his one-sided conversation. “Or it will take you too long to get better.” Sehun looked at the boy to see if he would answer and not surprisingly, he was confronted with silence. Not that he cared. He had finished peeling of the potato until then, now chopping it up in his hands and putting the pieces in the pot. 

As Sehun started peeling the second potato, he couldn't help his eyes wander off to the boy’s chest. The bandage around his wound had gone almost completely red, Sehun needed to change that soon. He had given him a herbal medicine his mother had taught him, hoping it would ease his pain. He was afraid the wound would get infected because that wasn't something he would be able to handle on his own, in his small and rundown hut. “How did you even get that?” He said, knowing the boy wouldn't answer. He had asked the same question a hundred times since he had found the boy wandering around the palace, hardly keeping himself from collapsing. 

“I almost got caught,” he said, hoping it would get the boy’s attention. Although there weren't any drastic change in his behavior, Sehun did realize the boy’s gaze darting towards him. “The general, he was awake,” he continued, looking at the pot he was now stirring, “he did let me go though. He even let me take the whole sack! Who thought he could be a gentle guy?” 

The boy frowned at that, his hands unconsciously forming fists and teeth clenching, though Sehun didn't notice that. 

Sehun looked at the boy again, as if, if he looked at him enough the boy would suddenly start talking. Sehun sighed, putting the chopped up pieces of the second potato into the pot. “Can you at least tell me your name?”

The boy didn't respond, not to Sehun’s surprise. 

Of course, he couldn't tell Sehun his name. He could tell him why he was there, where he was from, why he was wounded, who he was. But the most important of all, Jongin couldn't tell him that he had just killed the king. 


End file.
